Arizona Sketches
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Joseph A. Munk >> Arizona Sketches
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9 *END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
ARIZONA SKETCHES by Joseph A. Munk
CHAPTER
I. A ROMANTIC LAND
II. MY FIRST TRIP TO ARIZONA
III. THE OPEN RANGE
IV. RANCH LIFE
V. THE ROUND-UP
VI. RANCH HAPPENINGS
VII. A MODEL RANCH
VIII. SOME DESERT PLANTS
IX. HOOKER'S HOT SPRINGS
X. CANON ECHOES
XI. THE METEORITE MOUNTAIN
XII. THE CLIFF DWELLERS
XIII. THE MOQUI INDIANS
XIV. A FINE CLIMATE
CHAPTER I
A ROMANTIC LAND
A stranger on first entering Arizona is impressed with the
newness and wildness that surrounds him. Indeed, the change is
so great that it seems like going to sleep and waking up in a
new world. Everything that he sees is different from the
familiar objects of his home, and he is filled with wonder and
amazement at the many curious things that are brought to his
notice. Judging the country by what is common back east, the
average man is disappointed and prejudiced against what he sees;
but, estimated on its merits, it is found to be a land of many
attractions and great possibilities.
A hasty trip through the country by rail gives no adequate idea
of its intrinsic value, as such a limited view only affords a
superficial glimpse of what should be leisurely and carefully
examined to be properly understood or appreciated. At the first
glance it presents the appearance of a desert, but to one who is
acquainted with its peculiarities it is by no means desolate. It
furnishes a strong contrast to the rolling woodlands of the far
east, and to the boundless prairies of the middle west; and,
though it may never develop on the plan of the older states, like
California, it has an individuality and charm of its own; and its
endowment of natural wealth and beauty requires no borrowing from
neighbors to give it character or success.
It has grand scenery, a salubrious climate, productive soil, rich
mineral deposits and rare archaeological remains. It also has a
diversified fauna and flora. The peccary, Gila monster,
tarantula, centipede, scorpion and horned toad are specimens of
its strange animal life; and, the numerous species of cacti,
yucca, maguey, palo verde and mistletoe are samples of its
curious vegetation. It is, indeed, the scientist's Paradise
where much valuable material can be found to enrich almost every
branch of natural science.
Hitherto its growth has been greatly retarded by its remote
position in Uncle Sam's domain; but, with the comparatively
recent advent of the railroad, the influx of capital and
population, and the suppression of the once dreaded and
troublesome Apache, a new life has been awakened that is destined
to redeem the country from its ancient lethargy and make it a
land of promise to many home seekers and settlers.
When the Spaniards under Coronado first entered the land more
than three hundred and fifty years ago in search of the seven
cities of Cibola, they found upon the desert sufficient evidence
of an extinct race to prove that the land was once densely
populated by an agricultural and prosperous people. When or how
the inhabitants disappeared is unknown and may never be known.
It is even in doubt who they were, but, presumably, they were of
the Aztec or Toltec race; or, perhaps, of some civilization even
more remote.
The Pueblo Indians are supposed to be their descendants, but, if
so, they were, when first found, as ignorant of their ancestors
as they were of their discoverers. When questioned as to the
past they could give no intelligent answer as to their
antecedents, but claimed that what the white man saw was the work
of Montezuma. All that is known of this ancient people is what
the ruins show, as they left no written record or even tradition
of their life, unless it be some inscriptions consisting of
various hieroglyphics and pictographs that are found painted upon
the rocks, which undoubtedly have a meaning, but for lack of
interpretation remain a sealed book. The deep mystery in which
they are shrouded makes their history all the more interesting
and gives unlimited scope for speculation.
Arizona is a land that is full of history as well as mystery and
invites investigation. It has a fascination that every one
feels who crosses its border. Paradoxical as it may seem it is
both the oldest and newest portion of our country--the oldest in
ancient occupation and civilization and the newest in modern
progress. In natural wonders it boasts of the Grand Canon of
Arizona, the painted desert, petrified forest, meteorite
mountain, natural bridge, Montezuma's well and many other marvels
of nature. There are also ruins galore, the cave and cliff
dwellings, crumbled pueblos, extensive acequias, painted rocks,
the casa grande and old Spanish missions. Anyone who is in
search of the old and curious, need not go to foreign lands, but
can find right here at home in Arizona and the southwest, a
greater number and variety of curiosities than can be found in
the same space anywhere else upon the globe.
Arizona is a land of strong contrasts and constant surprises,
where unusual conditions prevail and the unexpected frequently
happens.
From the high Colorado plateau of northern Arizona the land
slopes toward the southwest to the Gulf of California. Across
this long slope of several hundred miles in width, numerous
mountain ranges stretch from the northwest to the southeast.
Through the middle of the Territory from east to west, flows the
Gila river to its confluence with the Colorado. This stream
marks the dividing line between the mountains which descend from
the north and those that extend south, which increase in altitude
and extent until they culminate in the grand Sierra Madres of
Mexico.
The traveler in passing through the country never gets entirely
out of the sight of mountains. They rise up all about him and
bound the horizon near and far in every direction. In riding
along he always seems to be approaching some distant mountain
barrier that ever recedes before him as he advances. He is never
clear of the encircling mountains for, as often as he passes out
of one enclosure through a gap in the mountains, he finds himself
hemmed in again by a new one. The peculiarity of always being in
the midst of mountains and yet never completely surrounded, is
due to an arrangement of dovetailing or overlapping in their
formation. His winding way leads him across barren wastes,
through fertile valleys, among rolling hills and into sheltered
parks, which combine an endless variety of attractive scenery.
An Arizona landscape, though mostly of a desert type, is yet full
of interest to the lover of nature. It presents a strangely
fascinating view, that once seen, will never be forgotten. It
stirs a rapture in the soul that only nature can inspire.
Looking out from some commanding eminence, a wide spreading and
diversified landscape is presented to view. Though hard and
rugged, the picture, as seen at a distance, looks soft and smooth
and its details of form and color make an absorbing study.
The eye is quick to note the different hues that appear in the
field of vision and readily selects five predominating colors,
namely, gray, green, brown, purple and blue, which mingle
harmoniously in various combinations with almost every other
color that is known. The most brilliant lights, sombre shadows,
exquisite tints and delicate tones are seen which, if put on
canvas and judged by the ordinary, would be pronounced
exaggerated and impossible by those unfamiliar with the original.
The prevailing color is gray, made by the dry grass and sandy
soil, and extends in every direction to the limit of vision. The
gramma grass of the and region grows quickly and turns gray
instead of brown, as grasses usually do when they mature. It
gives to the landscape a subdued and quiet color, which is
pleasing to the eye and makes the ideal background in a picture.
Into this warp of gray is woven a woof of green, spreading in
irregular patches in all directions. It is made by the
chaparral, which is composed of a variety of desert plants that
are native to the soil and can live on very little water. It
consists of live oak, pinion, mesquite, desert willow,
greasewood, sage brush, palmilla, maguey, yucca and cacti and is
mostly evergreen.
The admixture of gray and green prevails throughout the year
except during the summer rainy season, when, if the rains are
abundant, the gray disappears almost entirely, and the young
grass springs up as by magic, covering the whole country with a
carpet of living green. In the midst of the billowy grass
myriads of wild flowers bloom, and stand single or shoulder to
shoulder in masses of solid color by the acre.
Upon the far mountains is seen the sombre brown in the bare
rocks. The whole region was at one time violently disturbed by
seismic force and the glow of its quenched fires has even yet
scarcely faded away. Large masses of igneous rocks and broad
streams of vitrified lava bear mute testimony of the change,
when, by some mighty subterranean force, the tumultuous sea was
rolled back from its pristine bed and, in its stead, lofty
mountains lifted their bald beads above the surrounding
desolation, and stand to-day as they have stood in massive
grandeur ever since the ancient days of their upheaval. Rugged
and bleak they tower high, or take the form of pillar, spire and
dome, in some seemingly well-constructed edifice erected by the
hand of man. But the mountains are not all barren. Vast areas
of fertile soil flank the bare rocks where vegetation has taken
root, and large fields of forage and extensive forests of oak
and pine add value and beauty to the land.
The atmosphere is a striking feature of the country that is as
pleasing to the eye as it is invigorating to the body. Over
all the landscape hangs a veil of soft, purple haze that is
bewitching. It gives to the scene a mysterious, subtle
something that is exquisite and holds the senses in a magic spell
of enchantment.
Distance also is deceptive and cannot be estimated as under other
skies. The far-off mountains are brought near and made to glow
in a halo of mellow light. Manifold ocular illusions appear in
the mirage and deceive the uninitiated. An indefinable dreamy
something steals over the senses and enthralls the soul.
Arching heaven's high dome is a sky of intense blue that looks so
wonderfully clear and deep that even far-famed Italy cannot
surpass it. The nights are invariably clear and the moon and
stars appear unusually bright. The air is so pure that the stars
seem to be advanced in magnitude and can be seen quite low down
upon the horizon.
The changing lights that flash in the sky transform both the
sunrise and sunset into marvels of beauty. In the mellow
afterglow of the sunset, on the western sky, stream long banners
of light, and fleecy clouds of gold melt away and fade in the
twilight.
At midday in the hazy distance, moving slowly down the valley,
can be seen spiral columns of dust that resemble pillars of
smoke. They ascend perpendicularly, incline like Pisa's leaning
tower, or are beat at various angles, but always retaining the
columnar form. They rise to great heights and vanish in space.
These spectral forms are caused by small local whirlwinds when
the air is otherwise calm, and are, apparently, without purpose,
unless they are intended merely to amuse the casual observer.
A cloudy day is rare and does not necessarily signify rain.
Usually the clouds are of the cumulus variety and roll leisurely
by in billowy masses. Being in a droughty land the clouds always
attract attention viewed either from an artistic or utilitarian
standpoint. When out on parade they float lazily across the sky,
casting their moving shadows below. The figures resemble a
mammoth pattern of crazy patchwork in a state of evolution spread
out for inspection.
The impression that is made while looking out upon such a scene
is that of deep silence. Everything is hushed and still; but, by
listening attentively, the number of faint sounds that reach the
ear in an undertone is surprising. The soft soughing of the wind
in the trees; the gentle rustle of the grass as it is swayed by
the passing breeze; the musical ripple of water as it gurgles
from the spring; the piping of the quail as it calls to its mate;
the twitter of little birds flitting from bush to bough; the
chirp of the cricket and drone of the beetle are among the sounds
that are heard and fall soothingly upon the ear.
The trees growing upon the hillside bear a striking resemblance
to an old orchard and are a reminder of home where in childhood
the hand delighted to pluck luscious fruit from drooping boughs.
A walk among the trees makes it easy to imagine that you are in
some such familiar but neglected haunt, and instinctively you
look about expecting to see the old house that was once called
home and hear the welcome voice and footfall of cherished memory.
It is no little disappointment to be roused from such a reverie
to find the resemblance only a delusion and the spot deserted.
Forsaken as it has been for many years by the native savage
Indians and prowling wild beasts, the land waits in silence and
patience the coming of the husbandman.
CHAPTER II
MY FIRST TRIP TO ARIZONA
I recall with vivid distinctness my first trip to Arizona and
introduction to ranch life in the spring of 1884. The experience
made a deep impression and has led me to repeat the visit many
times since then, with increased interest and pleasure.
During the previous year my brother located a cattle ranch for us
in Railroad Pass in southeastern Arizona. The gap is one of a
series of natural depressions in a succession of mountain chains
on the thirty-second parallel route, all the way from New Orleans
to San Francisco over a distance of nearly twenty-five hundred
miles. The Southern Pacific Railroad is built upon this route
and has the easiest grade of any transcontinental line.
Railroad Pass is a wide break between two mountain ranges and is
a fine grazing section. It is handsomely bounded and presents a
magnificent view. To the north are the Pinaleno mountains, with
towering Mt. Graham in their midst, that are nearly eleven
thousand feet high and lie dark in the shadows of their dense
pine forests. Far to the south rise the rugged Chiricahuas, and
nearby stands bald Dos Cabezas, whose giant double head of
granite can be seen as a conspicuous landmark over a wide scope
of country. The distance across the Pass as the crow flies is,
perhaps, fifty miles. Beyond these peaks other mountains rise in
majestic grandeur and bound the horizon in every direction.
At the time that the ranch was located the Pass country was
considered uninhabitable because of the scarcity of water and the
presence of hostile Indians. No permanent spring nor stream of
water was known to exist in that whole region, but fine gramma
grass grew everywhere. Its suitability as a cattle range was
recognized and caused it to be thoroughly prospected for water,
which resulted in the discovery of several hidden springs. All
of the springs found, but one, were insignificant and either soon
went dry or fluctuated with the seasons; but the big spring,
known as Pinaleno, was worth finding, and flows a constant stream
of pure, soft water that fills a four-inch iron pipe.
When the spring was discovered not a drop of water was visible
upon the surface, and a patch of willows was the only indication
of concealed moisture. By sinking a shallow well only a few feet
deep among the willows, water was struck as it flowed through
coarse gravel over a buried ledge of rock that forced the water
up nearly to the surface only to sink again in the sand without
being seen. A ditch was dug to the well from below and an iron
pipe laid in the trench, through which the water is conducted
into a reservoir that supplies the water troughs.
Again, when the ranch was opened the Indians were bad in the
vicinity and had been actively hostile for some time. The ranch
is on a part of the old Chiricahua reservation that was once the
home and hunting grounds of the tribe of Chiricahua Apaches, the
most bold and warlike of all the southwest Indians. Cochise was
their greatest warrior, but he was only one among many able
Apache chieftains. He was at one time the friend of the white
man, but treachery aroused his hatred and caused him to seek
revenge on every white man that crossed his path.
His favorite haunt was Apache Pass, a convenient spot that was
favorable for concealment, where he lay in wait for weary
travelers who passed that way in search of water and a pleasant
camp ground. If attacked by a superior force, as sometimes
happened, he invariably retreated across the Sulphur Spring
valley into his stronghold in the Dragoon mountains.
Because of the many atrocities that were committed by the
Indians, white men were afraid to go into that country to settle.
Even as late as in the early eighties when that prince of
rascals, the wily Geronimo, made his bloody raids through
southern Arizona, the men who did venture in and located ranch
and mining claims, lived in daily peril of their lives which, in
not a few instances, were paid as a forfeit to their daring.
The Butterfield stage and all other overland travel to California
by the southern route before the railroads were built, went
through Apache Pass. Although it was the worst Indian infested
section in the southwest, travelers chose that dangerous route in
preference to any other for the sake of the water that they knew
could always be found there.
The reputation of Apache Pass, finally became so notoriously
bad because of the many murders committed that the Government,
late in the sixties, built and garrisoned Ft. Bowie for the
protection of travelers and settlers. The troops stationed at
the post endured much hardship and fought many bloody battles
before the Indians were conquered. Many soldiers were killed and
buried in a little graveyard near the fort. When the fort was
abandoned a few years ago, their bodies were disinterred and
removed to the National cemetery at Washington.
Railroad Pass is naturally a better wagon road than Apache Pass,
but is without water. It was named by Lieut. J. G. Parke in 1855
while engaged in surveying for the Pacific Railroad, because of
its easy grade and facility for railroad construction.
I timed my visit to correspond with the arrival at Bowie station
on the Southern Pacific Railroad, of a consignment of ranch goods
that had been shipped from St. Louis. I was met at the depot by
the ranch force, who immediately proceeded to initiate me as a
tenderfoot. I inquired of one of the cowboys how far it was to a
near-by mountain. He gave a quien sabe shrug of the shoulder and
answered me in Yankee fashion by asking how far I thought it was.
Estimating the distance as in a prairie country I replied, "Oh,
about a mile." He laughed and said that the mountain was fully
five miles distant by actual measurement. I had unwittingly
taken my first lesson in plainscraft and prudently refrained
thereafter from making another sure guess.
The deception was due to the rarefied atmosphere, which is
peculiar to the arid region. It not only deceives the eye as to
distance, but also as to motion. If the eye is steadily fixed
upon some distant inanimate object, it seems to move in the
tremulous light as if possessed of life, and it is not always
easy to be convinced to the contrary. However, by putting the
object under inspection in line with some further object, it can
readily be determined whether the object is animate or still by
its remaining on or moving off the line.
Another peculiarity of the country is that objects do not always
seem to stand square with the world. In approaching a mountain
and moving on an up grade the plane of incline is suddenly
reversed and gives the appearance and sensation of going
downhill. In some inexplicable manner sense and reason seem to
conflict and the discovery of the disturbed relation of things is
startling. You know very well that the mountain ahead is above
you, but it has the appearance of standing below you in a hollow;
and the water in the brook at your feet, which runs down the
mountain into the valley, seems to be running uphill. By turning
squarely about and looking backwards, the misplaced objects
become righted, and produces much the same sensation that a man
feels who is lost and suddenly finds himself again.
We immediately prepared to drive out to the ranch, which was ten
miles distant and reached by a road that skirted the Dos Cabezas
mountains. The new wagon was set up and put in running order and
lightly loaded with supplies. All of the preliminaries being
completed, the horses were harnessed and hooked to the wagon.
The driver mounted his seat, drew rein and cracked his whip, but
we didn't go. The horses were only accustomed to the saddle and
knew nothing about pulling in harness. Sam was a condemned
cavalry horse and Box was a native bronco, and being hitched to a
wagon was a new experience to both. The start was unpropitious,
but, acting on the old adage that "necessity is the mother of
invention," which truth is nowhere better exemplified than on the
frontier where conveniences are few and the most must be made of
everything, after some delay and considerable maneuvering we
finally got started.
The road for some distance out was level and smooth and our
progress satisfactory. As we drove leisurely along I improved
the opportunity to look about and see the sights. It was a
perfect day in April and there never was a brighter sky nor
balmier air than beamed and breathed upon us. The air was soft
and tremulous with a magical light that produced startling
phantasmagoric effects.
It was my first sight of a mirage and it naturally excited my
curiosity. It seemed as if a forest had suddenly sprung up
in the San Simon valley where just before had appeared only bare
ground. With every change in the angle of vision as we journeyed
on, there occurred a corresponding change in the scene before us
that produced a charming kaleidoscopic effect. The rough
mountain was transformed into a symmetrical city and the dry
valley into a lake of sparkling water,--all seeming to be the
work of magic in some fairyland of enchantment.
In a ledge of granite rock by the wayside were cut a number of
round holes which the Indians had made and used as mills for
grinding their corn and seeds into meal. Nearby also, were some
mescal pits used for baking the agave, a native plant that is in
great demand as food by the Indians. The spot was evidently an
old rendezvous where the marauding Apaches were accustomed to
meet in council to plan their bloody raids, and to feast on
mescal and pinole in honor of some successful foray or victory
over an enemy.
We next crossed several well-worn Indian trails which the Apaches
had made by many years of travel to and fro between their
rancherias in the Mogollon mountains and Mexico. The sight of
these trails brought us back to real life and a conscious sense
of danger, for were we not in an enemy's country and in the midst
of hostile Indians? Nearly every mile of road traveled had been
at some time in the past the scene of a bloody tragedy enacted by
a savage foe. Even at that very time the Apaches were out on the
warpath murdering people, but fortunately we did not meet them
and escaped unmolested.
The road now crossed a low hill, which was the signal for more
trouble. The team started bravely up the incline, but soon
stopped and then balked and all urging with whip and voice failed
to make any impression. After several ineffectual attempts to
proceed it was decided not to waste any more time in futile
efforts. The horses were unhitched and the wagon partly
unloaded, when all hands by a united pull and push succeeded in
getting the wagon up the hill. After reloading no difficulty was
experienced in making a fresh start on a down grade, but a little
farther on a second and larger hill was encountered, when the
failure to scale its summit was even greater than the first. No
amount of coaxing or urging budged the horses an inch. They
simply were stubborn and would not pull.
Night was approaching and camp was yet some distance ahead. The
driver suggested that the best thing to do under the
circumstances was for the rest of us to take the led horses and
ride on to camp, while he would remain with the wagon and, if
necessary, camp out all night. We reluctantly took his advice,
mounted our horses and finished our journey in the twilight.
Aaron, who was housekeeper at the ranch, gave us a hearty welcome
and invited us to sit down to a bountiful supper which he had
prepared in anticipation of our coming. Feeling weary after our
ride we retired early and were soon sound asleep. The only
thing that disturbed our slumbers during the night was a coyote
concert which, as a "concord of sweet sounds was a dismal
failure" but as a medley of discordant sounds was a decided
success. The bark of the coyote is particularly shrill and sharp
and a single coyote when in full cry sounds like a chorus of
howling curs.
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